Caught Red-Handed
by mimithereader
Summary: Stisaac prompt: Caught by the sheriff at the store buying supplies. *EDITED AND NOW MAKES SENSE Chapter two: Isaac and Stiles caught in the act by the sheriff. *non-graphic sex
1. Chapter 1

It had been a long day for Beacon Hills's sheriff. He had just come off a 12-turned-20- hour shift and he was ready to head home. But, being the fantastic father that he is, decided to stop at the store to pick up some pain relievers for Stiles since he had been complaining about headaches.

He was debating between Aleve and the generic brand when he heard his son's voice. Grabbing the Aleve, he quickly rounded the corner, curious to see what Stiles was doing there, only to stop dead in his tracks at the scene in front of him. Stiles and the Lahey kid were standing with their backs to him, looking at _lube_.

And the Lahey kid – _Isaac _– John reminded himself, was already holding two boxes of condoms. Why did he need to buy two boxes at once? God, were one of those boxes for his _son_? His _baby boy_? Stiles's voice snapped him out of his reverie, bringing him back to the traumatizing situation in front of him.

"No, this one didn't work well last time, remember?" Stiles asked as he put the purple bottle of KY lubricant back on the shelf.

Wait. _WAIT_. They weren't just perusing condoms and lube together for their own personal use, no they were going to use them _together_ and – hang on, did Stiles say _last_ time?!

"Not really," Isaac responded with a shrug of his shoulders.

"Well, that's because you're not the one who felt like he was getting torn in half with each thrust," Stiles remarked with a roll of his eyes.

_Thrust_. Had_ thrust_ always sounded like such a dirty word? Had it always been so obscene or was it only so disgusting when couple with the images of his child being the receiver of such _thrusting_? John will never be able to hear, let alone use, that word again. _Ever_.

Isaac snickered at Stiles's dramatics, slipping a hand into Stiles's back pocket and _squeezing_.

And God, John hadn't even know they were together. Least of all _together_. You know, _sexually._

"What about that one?" Isaac asked, gesturing with his hand full of condoms towards a red bottle.

Stiles picks it up, gives it an apprising look, before shaking his head and putting it back.

"That one?" Isaac asked again, receiving a "no" in response. It was Isaac's turn to roll his eyes.

Stiles picked up another bottle – a _large_ bottle.

"Let's get this one, it comes with 50% more," Stiles said, winking at Isaac before turning around and locking eyes with the sheriff, his abject terror matching John's.

"DAD!"

Isaac spun around so quickly he was in danger of giving himself whiplash. The sheriff took another moment to stare at his son's stunned face before shaking his head and striding up to the two boys. Isaac took a step back while Stiles remained rooted to his spot in shock, mouth hanging slightly open. John took the bottle of lube out of Stiles's hand before grabbing the red bottle Isaac had pointed out earlier. He placed the bottle in Stile's hand, wrapping his fingers around it to ensure he actually had a grip on it before letting go, saying, "Don't be a cheap ass, son."

John walked away, heading casually for the register, hearing Isaac burst into laughter and Stiles's traumatized, "Oh my _God_."


	2. Chapter 2

"Stiles, buddy, you home -" John Stilinski asks as he half-knocks and opens his son's door without waiting for a response

And dear lord he should have waited for a response.

Clothes are on the floor. Some that are certainly _not_ his son's.

And oh God is that _underwear?_

Again, certainly not Stiles's. Stiles is more of a boxers guy and those red boxer briefs are not his. _Not his_.

Is that a – yep. That's definitely a condom wrapper. An _opened_ condom wrapper. Magnum XL and he doesn't know if his son is –

No. _Nope_. Stopping that train of thought right there.

And the _noises_.

His eyes are drawn up from the floor at the loud, obscene moan that falls from his _son's _lips.

His _son_.

His son who is currently _beneath _another man.

_ Lahey_.

Goddamnit.

And there's that _thrusting_ he never wanted to hear about let alone see.

Large brown eyes flutter open and lock on his.

"_Dad!"_

And that's all it takes to snap John out of his frozen state. He steps out of the room fast as possible, slamming the door behind him.

Seconds. It only took mere _seconds _for John to be completely traumatized.

He's still standing in the hall, hand frozen on the door knob, all memory of how to move and function completely erased.

He hears Stiles's voice berating Isaac to "_move, damn it!" _

He hears the sound of the two boys moving again, hears Stiles land with a thump on the floor as they scrabble around the room, undoubtedly in rush to clothe themselves again.

He hears another voice, this time Isaac's, say, "Well, it's not like he didn't _know_ we were having sex, right?"

And, yep, that's enough.

Time to leave. Time to move. With a shake of his head he goes downstairs to pour himself a drink.

He falls heavily into a seat at the kitchen table, drink in hand. Isaac was right, he _had_ known.

But, dear lord, _knowing_ is a whole world apart from _seeing_ and he doesn't think he will ever be able to _stop_ seeing that.

He needs brain bleach. Desperately.

Stiles and Isaac appear at the bottom of the stairs and he watches as Isaac barely waves at Stiles before nearly running out the door, not even glancing in John's direction. John doesn't blame him, he would have hightailed it out of there himself.

Stiles hovers awkwardly in the entrance to the kitchen, avoiding eye contact, and John has to admit he is thankful for it. He can't look at those eyes right now, not when he's just seen them blown wide in _lust_ and –

Is brain bleach a thing? It should be. It needs to be.

"Dad - "

"The socks I could handle, Stiles. But not those sheets. You're doing your own damn laundry."

John finishes his glass, stands up and head for the stairs, patting Stiles on the back as his son buries his face in his hands in utter mortification.


End file.
